Strays
by LadyRhiyana
Summary: Kaoru invites the most dangerous assassin in Japan into her home and her life. Will he truly stay? [Drabbles in a modern AU.] New: Ch 3. Katsura summons Kenshin to account for his actions.
1. Execution

A/N – So, this has already been posted, as the second part of my two-shot "Justified". I've been meaning to add to and expand to it for quite a while, and now I've finally gotten round to it. This will not be a chaptered story, but rather a series of connected drabbles.

Disclaimer – I don't own Ruroken, the canon characters, settings or situations. No profit was made from the writing of it.

* * *

**Execution**

* * *

"Kurogasa."

The flattened, dead-calm voice stopped the murderer in mid-slaughter. Slowly, the knife lowered, still dripping fresh blood, and Kurogasa turned to glare at the interruption –

Kaoru's mind screamed at her to run, to escape, her heart pounding desperately, but her body could not move, frozen by the murderer's horrifying hypnosis.

A shadow, silhouetted against the entrance of the dark alley: as it drew closer, Kaoru saw that it was a man, dressed in dark blue gi and black hakama, two swords at his side, despite the sword ban.

Something in him caused her heart to lift, and for the first time since she had been dragged back into the alley, she felt a small shred of hope.

"Well, well, well," the murderer exclaimed gleefully. "So, you've come at last, Battousai. I thought I would have to slaughter half the city before you deigned to meet me."

"Your sick game ends here, Udo Jin-ei," the newcomer – the terrifying government assassin – said. "I will put a stop to it myself, in the Emperor's name." Slowly, deliberately, he crouched, slid one foot forward, and placed his hand over the hilt of his katana, waiting.

"Katsura's lap-dog," Kurogasa crowed, "Meiji's executioner. Where have all your fine ideals gone, Battousai? Your promised era is rotten to the core, and you are the arbiter of the corruption. How dare you judge –"

Before he could finish, the assassin drew, an arc of shining steel flashing out, cutting the words off mid-syllable in a spray of gushing crimson blood. The terrible paralysis broken, Kaoru screamed, and huddled against the wall of the alley, wiping frantically at the warm liquid now coating her face.

"Stop," a quiet, flat voice said, and calloused hands took hold of her wrists, stilling their frantic activity. "You'll hurt yourself." Kaoru found herself looking up at hitokiri Battousai, the notorious, terrifying shadow assassin. He knelt beside her, his sword – still unsheathed, Kurogasa's blood staining the blade – by his side.

"You killed him," she whispered, her eyes wide and dark.

"He was threatening the peace of the Meiji era," Battousai replied. It sounded like something he had repeated to himself, over and over again, until the words had lost all meaning.

"…thank you," she said quietly.

His eyes, dull and leaden, flew to hers – and as she watched, as he absorbed her gratitude, they flared, brightened to rich amber-gold. She did not know how long they stared at each other, huddled in the filth and stench of the alley – she only knew that when he finally looked away, she felt strangely bereft.

Slowly, he released her hands and straightened, reclaiming his sword and quickly flicking the blood clear before he sheathed it. When he turned back to her, he offered her his left hand, assistance in getting back to her feet – she stared blankly for a moment before grasping it and allowing him to pull her up.

His hand was warm, firm, sword-callous rough on his palm and fingers.

"Do you have somewhere to go?" he asked her, his voice low and distant.

She nodded, cleared her throat, and whispered, "Yes." He still had not released her hand.

"Very well, then. I will take you home."

Together, they left the alley and ventured out into the night. The streets were dark, and the neighbourhood was rough and unruly –

But Kaoru was not afraid.


	2. Protector

**Protector  
****A/N** – The next morning.  
**Disclaimer** – I don't own Ruroken, any of the canon characters, situations or settings. Written for enjoyment only.

* * *

It was nearly 3am by the time the taxi rolled to a stop outside the Kamiya dojo. Kaoru stepped out of the cab and stood, clutching her coat tightly about her and shivering while her companion paid the fare, numbly allowing him to take care of everything. Shock, her mind supplied distantly, delayed reaction; not two hours ago she'd thought she was about to die, frozen and helpless under Jin-ei's spell, before an even more dangerous killer had intervened. Hitokiri Battousai had cut Jin-ei down before her terrified eyes (she could still feel the shocking warmth as the blood spattered her face) and then –

– and then he had helped her to her feet and offered to escort her home.

She had taken his arm and walked with him through dark streets and alleys in some sort of twisted normality, completely unafraid, before the events of the night finally began to set in. That was when her strange companion, casting her a concerned look that she was too numb to notice, had hailed a cab, bundled her in before she could protest, and after only a second's hesitation she gave the driver her address.

Because really, if he'd wanted to harm her, he'd already had more than enough opportunity.

Finally the taxi was gone and she stood alone with the assassin, fumbling in her purse for the keys. She did not even question her decision to let him in, simply unlocked the door, turned to see him behind her, waiting politely for his dismissal – and something in her knew that she could not let him go. It took all of her courage, but she held out her hand to him, palm upwards in invitation.

He hesitated, already half-stepping backwards and away, melting into the shadows.

"You saved me," she said, her voice unsteady. "And then you made sure that I reached my home safely. Please, stay," she whispered, beyond all thoughts of pride or appearances. "I trust you."

He stared at her for a long, long time, her outstretched hand between them. She remembered the way his eyes had flared brightly when she had thanked him for saving her life – Battousai, the most dangerous government enforcer in Japan.

Finally, he took her hand, and allowed her to lead him into her home.

* * *

He was still there when she woke in the morning. She yawned widely as she padded out into the living area, half-convinced the night before had been nothing but a terrifying dream; her eyes widened as she saw him on the porch, half-dozing with his back against the wall, his sheathed sword propped against his shoulder.

He turned as she approached him, and for the first time she could get a good look at him in the morning light: she was surprised to see that her first impressions of him (admittedly coloured by violence and death) had been wildly misleading. Far from being a terrifying shadow creature, he was a small, slender man, extremely self-contained. His hair _was _red-brown, like the rumours, and his eyes were an eerie shade of golden-brown, though infinitely sad. His face was unlined, deceptively young, though he must have been in his late twenties, at the very least.

"I'm sorry," was the first thing he said, "about what happened to you last night. You should not have been… Jin-ei should never have involved innocents."

She shuddered, remembering the sick glee in the murderer's eyes, the way he had taunted and terrorised her with his knives.

"You were hunting him?" she asked.

He nodded, looked away, mouth set and grim. "He was one of us, once – the hitokiri. But he began to enjoy it too much, and Katsura-san…"

He trailed off, but Kaoru could fill in the gaps. Katsura Kogoro, the all-powerful Minister of the Interior, controlled all domestic security in Japan, including the secret police and the intelligence agencies. He'd been one of the three most instrumental figures in the revolution, had helped bring the old order down with his brutal kill squads, the hitokiri, of whom Battousai was the most notorious. After the Emperor Meiji had been restored, Katsura had gone from rebel to government minister, but had not, it was whispered, surrendered control of his hitokiri.

"Well," she said, a poor, deliberate attempt at lightening the mood, "he's dead now. And I thank you. Really. Oh," she said, her eyes flying wide. "I'm sorry – my name is Kaoru. Kamiya Kaoru. We didn't really get to introduce ourselves last night."

She held out her hand again, this time for him to shake. He looked at her, eyes wide, before a slow, fugitive smile dawned. "Himura Kenshin," he said, and shook her hand gently. "And thank you," he said in return.

"For what?"

The fugitive smile turned wistful. "For reminding me it's my job to protect individual people, not just the Meiji regime."


	3. Interview

**Interview  
****Summary: **Katsura summons his chief hitokiri, who still answers to his call. For now.  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own Ruroken, any of the canon characters, situations or settings. No money was made in the writing of this fic.

* * *

Katsura Kogoro, Minister of the Interior and one of the three most powerful men in Japan, kept a small, cramped office in the Imperial Palace in Kyoto. Though the centre of power and the Ministry's central office had long since shifted to Tokyo, Katsura had to keep up his ties to the Imperial Court; it was to this humble office that he had – for lack of a better word – summoned his premier hitokiri.

Katsura watched the CCTV feed as Himura walked with slow, quiet confidence past the black-suited bodyguards, unchallenged; Katsura allowed him absolute access to his presence no matter the time or place. Had he been in any way like Shishio, whose ambition had turned him into a mad dog Katsura had been forced to destroy, the Minister would never have dreamed of such potential exposure. But Himura did not play games, even if Katsura sometimes did, and there was not an ounce of ambition in him. They had both seen what ambition did to hitokiri, and knew what lay at the end: a rain of bullets, and an unmarked grave.

Soon enough there was a discreet tap on the door. "Enter," Katsura called, and it slid open to reveal Himura Battousai, small, slender and innocuous.

Himura bowed as he entered, fluid and graceful, and sat down in the seat across from Katsura's desk.

"Himura-san," Katsura said, in his quiet, deliberately cultivated manner. "Thank you for coming."

Himura bowed again, raised his head so that his eerie golden-brown eyes met Katsura's with perfect steadiness. During the revolution those eyes had been cold, blank, utterly fanatical. In the ten years since then, they had become increasingly veiled and disillusioned, but what had not changed was the calm, steady potential for violence. Five days ago, Katsura would have called him the most loyal, trusted man he had. But that had been before Jin-ei's death.

"Let us be blunt," Katsura said. "We have known each other long enough for that, I think." There had always been complete honesty between them, from the very beginning. Himura was too dangerous for anything less.

Himura did not bow a third time. "Thank you for saying so, Katsura-san."

"And being blunt, you will not mind if I ask you, straight out, why you have abandoned the barracks for a run-down dojo in downtown Tokyo."

Other, lesser men, seeking to unnerve and intimidate, would have circled around the issue, taunting Himura with facts, photographs, files. They would have issued veiled threats and challenges. But Katsura had known this man too long; he knew his loyalty, knew his finely balanced sense of morality and honour, knew, too, that this most dangerous of hitokiri was both his greatest strength and, should it come to it, the blade that would turn in his hand.

Nothing less than the truth. That was what he had promised, all those years ago.

"Katsura-san," Himura said carefully, "I have not abandoned my post. I have simply found another place of residence."

Other men had often strayed from the barracks for days or weeks, dallying with a girl – or a boy – and returning when their interest waned. But not Himura.

"You wish to stay at this…Kamiya dojo…while still undertaking your duties."

"I…yes," Himura said, frowning a little. "Kaoru-dono has invited me to stay with her. It is a good place."

A good place, yes, it did have that reputation. Kamiya Kaoru – Himura's _Kaoru-dono _– was an outspoken believer in martial arts for self-improvement and self-defence, not lethal offence. She was also – and this was what truly convinced Katsura it was not a passing fling, and that Himura was determined to remain and protect his Kaoru-dono further – barely eighteen years old, alone save for her brother, and struggling financially in her first year of university.

"Kenshin," Katsura said, seeing Himura's eyes flick startled to his, "tell me this, honestly, for the sake of all that we have shared – can you continue to act as one of my hitokiri if you stay with this girl?"

Himura's eyes blanked, his face became an unreadable mask – and Katsura had his answer even before the other man replied. But those eyes, blanked as they were, remained steady, and there was nothing but honesty in Himura's voice as he spoke. "I don't know, Katsura-san," he said.

Katsura felt his heart gripped by an icy chill. "Well," he said, leaning back, not breaking eye contact for a second, "if it ever comes to it, let me know."

Himura bowed deeply, veiling his eyes and his expression, and left.

* * *

When he was gone, out of the foyer and long out of earshot, Katsura swept everything off the surface of his desk, throwing it all to the ground with a grinding, deeply satisfying crash. He stood panting, breathing harshly, his hands clenched white-knuckled on the edge of the desk, tempted to overturn it, too – but moment by moment, his composure returned, and soon he felt vaguely ashamed and disturbed by the uncharacteristic outburst.

Slowly, with great deliberation, he replaced every single item exactly as it had been before he upended it all.

And then he sat down, and began to make contingency plans.


End file.
